Revenge
by Hardly Here
Summary: A WWE western. Here be gunslinging, horseriding, the evil gang Legacy, baffled mexicans, manly men and dubiously manly wenches. well, Jeff Hardy . CM Punk/Undertaker. Finally complete! :D
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I like westerns, and I like the wwe, so why not combine the two? Enjoy! I did. **

**Do not own.**

**Characters that may cause some confusion:**

**Paul = Big Show**

**Hunter = HHH**

**Mark = Undertaker**

**Undertaker = His horse.**

**Chyna = Shawn Michaels's old horse**

**Hornswoggle = His new horse. (yeah, I know)**

**Phil = CM Punk**

*******

_**Regardless of a man's size when he was alive, no matter what his reach, **_

_**the ground he occupied on crossing over still came down to roughly three feet wide and six feet deep.**_

Mark adjusted his hat to shield his eyes from the sun. He hated riding west, it made the end of the day so much harder. He could see the town up ahead, and there was a speck of dust on the road moving towards him. He considered this for a moment, then spat on the side of the road.

He was a simple man – by no means stupid, but he possessed a frank, unromanticised insight into the world few people had. He could sun up everything he liked in his life in four words: Good, strong, nothin' fancy. That was the way he liked his whiskey, his women, his horses and his guns. The well-oiled pieces in question hung loosely at his waist, within easy reach even on horseback. A shotgun too, hung in his saddlebag, covered with a skin lest the harsh rays of the sun reach it.

The dust on the horizon was quickly materialising into the form of the Heart Break Kid, his old friend Shawn Michaels. His familiar cocky grin faded into a grimace of pain as he sped up, jolting his injured back.

"How many times does the doc have to tell you to stop ridin' these damn horses!" Called Mark.

"I dunno, but he sure as hell ain't done it enough yet," grinned Shawn, coming up beside him and reaching out to give his old friend a quick one-armed embrace. Mark absently jerked the right rein to stop 'Taker from the bite he knew was forthcoming to all new horses.

"Hey, I heard about Chyna."

"Yeah, she's been out to pasture for about a year now. You've been away for a long time."

It was true. Mark preferred a solitary life to that in towns. Conversations and social life wore him out inexplicably.

"What's," Mark paused to steer his foul-tempered horse away from snapping at the other horse's neck, "What's this one called?"

Shawn bit his lip and smiled sheepishly, "Hornswoggle."

Mark burst out laughing, and even Undertaker snorted in apparent amusement.

"Hey, he was like that when I got him! Bad luck to change a horse's name."

"He any good?"

"Strong, yes." He winced, "But anything more than a fast walk is murder."

"Didn't have anything better?"

Shawn looked embarrassed, "Business is bad nowadays. Orton and his crew... A few boys moved in a few months back, we thought they were harmless. Then they started messin 'round with them Mexicans, and now they're struttin' around like they own the place. Orton – Randy Orton, handiest man with a gun 'round these parts since, well, you. I'm surprised he hasn't jumped us already; boy has a knack for showin' up just when you dont' want him."

"Tell me, this Orton fella, does he ride with two boys? Cody and... the other one,"

"Ted? Yeah, that'd be the one."

A cloud settled on Mark's brow, and Shawn was about to ask him what was up when his horse stepped lightly over a fallen log, and he let out a hiss of pain.

"Whoa there. Shawn, why don't you get on Undertaker, and go on ahead and get a couple of nice cold beers ready for us?"

"That sounds fantastic," groaned Shawn, dismounting gratefully. "Thanks. Not a word to anyone, though."

Mark tipped his hat, "My lips are sealed."

***

Shawn had a new stable hand, a skinny-looking man of twenty-something, he guessed. He had shoulder-length black hair, which looked rather odd for those parts, especially since he didn't bother to tie it out of his face. He seemed to use it to hide behind when Mark walked in and handed him the reins to hornswoggle.

"You seen Undertaker? You can't miss him."

The man pointed to the stall next to him, where sure enough Mark's faithful horse stood. He stretched out his neck to bite the stable hand, but he dodged out of the way almost instinctively.

"Good one." Mark nodded, impressed. "See to it that you rub him down thoroughly, boy."

The man nodded and made to return to his work but Mark caught him by the arm.

"What's up with you? Cat got your tongue?"

Curious eyes flickered up at him momentarily before returning to the floor.

"You won't get a peep outta him,"

Mark turned to see who had spoken, and grinned.

"Paul! Still servin' out the beers here I see."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," grinned the big man, clapping Mark on the shoulder.

"So who's this quiet little thing, then?"

The man was unsaddling Hornswoggle, watching them guardedly from behind his veil of hair.

"No idea what his name is, but we call him Phil. Won't say a word... we think Orton and his men did something to him. Don't know what. He's got a thing for horses. Shawn took him in off the street."

"That man's too Christian for his own good," chuckled Mark

"Yeah, well he's a good worker, and never complains about his pay, or when he gets a beating."

"Wow. Sounds perfect."

"For you, maybe. He gets a bit annoying sometimes when you can't tell what he's trying to tell you. Now come on, beer's a-waiting."

***

_There was a house built by Mark's father, which had always been his resting place after many months on the road and countless jobs, a place he always knew he could count on, away from noisy towns and busy roads. His brother Glenn lived there permanently and had a small patch of land which he worked fairly well, enough to make a living for himself and a little extra. _

_**Six Months Earlier**_

_There is smoke in the distance. Unmistakeably a house fire, Mark can smell the burning wood, taste the bitter ash that is carried by the warm afternoon wind. There's only one cabin within miles of here, and it's his own. _

"_I'm gonna fuckin' kill Glenn," he thinks, nudging 'Taker into a canter._

_Little did he know the job had already been done for him._

_Two men galloped past him at full speed, whipping their horses into a frenzy. Their faces were covered in soot, but the look on their faces was one of triumph. Another, older man rode out from the woods nearby, calling to what appeared to be his lackeys._

"_Ted! Cody! Hurry up!"_

"_Will do, boss," Shouted the blonde one. _

_They disappeared in a cloud of dust, but their leader stayed, eyeing up Mark. He was holding a bag, and emptied the contents behind his horse._

"_The name's Randy Orton, and I dare you to follow me."_

"_Caltrops?" breathed Mark, reining in Undertaker hard, who was trying to power forward and get to the quickly retreating Orton. For now he had to check the damage. And Glenn. The severity of the situation suddenly sunk in, and he kicked 'Taker furiously, letting out a roar or rage._

"_Randy Orton is going to DIE."_

***

It was well past noon the next day when Mark woke. It had been a long day, and an even longer night catching up with his old friends. Hunter was getting back today, too, and so tonight promised to be just as wearing as the previous one. God, why was conversation a convention?

The afternoon sun had lost none of its intensity, and the old stable was like an oven. Mark came with a mind to get the stable hand to saddle up Undertaker for the next morning. He didn't remember a lot of the conversation last night (Shawn sure did have a loud mouth), but one thing stuck out.

_Ride around outside the city for long enough and you're bound to get jumped by Orton's men... They're like snakes... No-one's ever found their hideout._

He found that the horses had been moved just down the road to a newer stable, whose thick walls kept the heat out far better. However, the sound of panting and shuffling alerted him to someone's presence. Phil was still in there, taking the opportunity to muck out and clean all the stalls properly. His shirt was tied around his waist and sweat glistened on his skin, plastering the hair to his face in a tangle. Mark was impressed – he had imagined a scrawny, frail body under those clothes. Instead, despite his slight build there was muscle, and a hidden strength. He had perhaps misjudged the man.

"Well aren't you just full of surprises?" chuckled Mark, causing Phil to drop his pitchfork in fright.

"Don't let me disturb you, go ahead and finish." Phil nodded and wheeled a barrowful of stinking, gooey straw out to dump. When he returned, he wiped his face with a nearby rag and leant wearily against a stall. His questioning and slightly apprehensive expression seemed to say "I sincerely hope you're here for a reason other than seeing me shirtless and mucking out stalls."

"I need Undertaker saddled up tomorrow morning. You think you can handle that?"

He nodded, then went to return to his work.

"Phew! It _is _hot in here, ain't it Phil?"

Phil nodded, shovelling a little harder now that his boss was present.

"Damn Mark, I've been trying to coax a word out of him for months now, it ain't workin'." Chuckled Shawn. "Hard worker though."

"So I can see."

Shawn fidgeted for a moment, seemingly wanting to say something.

"What?" asked Mark flatly.

"You're not thinking of... you know... going out to find Orton are you? I mean, after what you told us last night about what happened with Glenn-"

"And what if I am?"

"Well... take someone with you at least?"

"Shawn, you know I hate riding with people... They talk too much."

"Take Hunter. I'll tell him not to wear you out with his chatter or nothin,'"

"No."

"What about Paul?"

"Will that man even fit on a horse?"

"Evan?"

"Are you insane? That kid never shuts up! He's worse than you!"

"Phil, then."

Mark found that he had no argument against this.

"Can he ride?"

Shawn shrugged, "He likes horses. But I'm _not _letting you go lookin' for Orton all on your lonesome."

"Can he handle a gun?"

"Came with the package. He's got an old 45 Colt in his stall."

Mark sighed, "Fine. But if he's any trouble I'm sendin' him back, whether you like it or not."

"Phil." Shawn gestured at him, "Come here, son. Catch your breath for a sec. You're goin' for a ride with Mark here tomorrow. Mind you don't be too noisy with him, he don't like conversation much."

Mark snorted with derision, "That's not funny, Shawn."

**I really should update Ace of Spades but this is more fun ^_^"**

**Phil has a colt. Geddit? I'm saaaaaa funny.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you're enjoying the ride so far! Just a question to vampiregirl2009, what did you mean by having CM Punk next? He was in the first chapter too! Actually, I might go add that to the character list in case that's confusing some people.**

'Taker still had some misgivings about Phil – every time the other man's horse got too close his ears would fold back and he would snap his teeth menacingly. Mark, too, was a little uneasy; he was a hard worker and didn't complain, but they had barely ridden half the day and already he was slumped in the saddle, gripping the pommel with both hands. His head was bowed with weariness and every now and again he would waver a little in his seat before righting himself again, gritting his teeth with frustration at his own weakness.

"Taken care of horses but never actually ridden before?" asked Mark.

He didn't mean for the remark to sound so cutting, but the harsh afternoon sun made him irritable, and gave his voice an angry edge. Phil straightened immediately, despite the growing ache in the small of his back, and took up the reins again. By dusk, he was exhausted and tumbled awkwardly from his horse when they stopped to rest for the night. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs gave way and he landed sprawled in the dust.

"Get up, you fool!" Growled Mark. He had no idea why he was being so unsympathetic with the man, but the remarks seemed to just fall out of his mouth.

"Go get some firewood before it gets too dark."

Phil returned a few minutes later with an armful of branches and some bark to use as tinder. Mark was setting out a rudimentary sleeping pallet for himself, listening to the sounds of the night for anything that might signify the approach of Orton and his men. Phil lighted the fire easily, to Mark's delight.

"Good man. You against eating beans?"

Phil shook his head.

"Also good, because you're not getting much else these next few days."

Phil nodded his head to show that he understood, then shivered a little as a chill breeze washed over them. Mark tossed him a blanket and pulled one out for himself.

"Gets cold fast out here, and you had a long day."

Phil seemed unsure of how to respond to that.

"Want some of Shawn's best?" Mark pulled out his hip flask, "Now I don't just share this with anybody."

Phil hesitated, then blushed a little and shook his head.

"Aw, don't be shy. Go on."

And other shake of the head, and Phil also began to tremble slightly, and Mark wasn't entirely sure it was from the cold. He held out the flask, eliciting a soft gasp from Phil, whose tremors intensified.

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you? I ain't gonna hurt you, just warm you up some."

Phil's lower lip quivered slightly, and he drew the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, drawing his knees up to his chin as if to shield himself from something.

"Well, okay then. Your loss." Mark took a grateful swig of the liquor and put the flask away.

***

The sun had long disappeared over the horizon, and Mark was stoking the fire when a soft whimper caught his attention. Phil hadn't moved all night, and his food lay next to him, barely touched.

"Now, I don't have too many rules, but one of them's that you don't waste your food."

In actuality, Phil was starving but so frightened of being alone at night with the huge man that he knew after the first bite that he wouldn't be able to keep anything down.

"You don't eat, you're not getting anything else 'til you open up that pretty mouth of yours and ask for it."

No movement. He didn't budge, even when the fire had burned down to glowing embers and Mark lay down for the night. When Phil was completely sure of the older man's snores, under the cover of the dark night he began to quietly weep.

***

Mark held true to his threat, only allowing Phil water when he saw the young man begin to falter beneath the cruel sun. He kept forgetting that other people weren't used to long rides. Normally he would have relented by now, but his nerves were on edge – every passing shadow, every cloud of dust in the distance made him tense with anticipation, and so Phil's disobedience last night irked him more than it usually would have. Otherwise, all was well. It was like travelling with his own private housekeeper, but less invasive. He was left alone to his own thoughts while riding, and that suited him perfectly. However, as he rode he found his thoughts returning constantly to the curious man riding just a little behind him.

_The morning is wiser than the night._ That was one of those weird things Paul always used to say, and now that he thought about it, the barman was right. Last night he hadn't given a second thought to Phil's behaviour, but now it was strange. Why would a seemingly mute man be so frightened of him and his whiskey? He remembered the way Phil had flinched when the flask had been shoved out at him, the way had tried to curl in on himself, the way he had still been waiting up while sleep claimed Mark. Phil was a strange fellow.

When they stopped for the second night, Mark announced that it was his turn to get the firewood, and quickly walked off behind a rocky outcrop to go find some. After gathering an armful of dead branches (plenty of those) he clambered up into a comfortable niche, and looked out to see what Phil did when he was left on his own.

Phil set out their blankets, then went over to rummage through Mark's saddlebags.

_He's a thief?_

Instead, he pulled out Mark's plate and cup, and placed them reverently on his blanket. He returned to his own spot, and began to gingerly roll up the legs of his Levi's. The flesh on his calves was chafed and raw, and he blew on it to try and ease the burning soreness for a while before rolling the legs down again.

"Shit Phil, we've gotta get you some gaiters or something."

Mark threw the branches down with a thump, bringing a squeak of fright from Phil. He then went over to Phil's saddlebags and brought out his plate and cup.

"I think if you don't eat, you'll probably fade away to nothing by morning." He said gruffly, throwing them down. Phil accepted them gratefully, and they sat down to the bland but strangely satisfying meal. Just as they were finishing Mark felt a shifting in the stillness of the night. Phil must have felt it too, because they reached simultaneously for their guns.

"Whoa there boys, it's only me." A big man stepped into the circle of firelight, leading a large gray horse.

"Hunter!" Mark relaxed and tipped his hat.

"Calaway, long time no see."

"Ah, been on the road a lot, but what can you say. How about you? Still beatin' every sorry kid who challenges you to a hand of poker?"

"You got that right. Been into town yet?

"Yeah, set up there yesterday night, stayin' a couple of weeks, I reckon... Phil, would you stop that!"

The smaller man was at his feet, tugging incessantly at his coat and pointing into the shadows.

"What?" Mark scanned the landscape, and saw nothing. However, upon returning his gaze to Hunter, he noticed his horse's hooves were covered with thick cloths. He looked up again, and couls swear he saw a flicker of movement in the shadows, the glint of pale moonlight on steel. There was a stirring in the night, the sound of muffled steps.

"Bastard!"

He and Hunter reached for their guns at the same time, but Mark was quicker. He allowed Hunter the first hurried, clumsy shot, dodging the bullet easily and buying a precious few seconds to align himself. Then, out of the darkness a bullet clipped his right shoulder.

_Oh shit, more of them_

Phil fired a shot into the darkness, and was rewarded with a yelp of pain. At the same instant, Mark fired on Hunter.

There's a lot that goes through a man's mind while his finger squeezes the trigger. It's the longest centimetre in his life, and there's still room for snap decisions. In the moment it took for his finger to tighten on the piece of metal, Mark recalled that Hunter was his friend, Shawn's friend... and that no, he would not kill him.

So when he shot Hunter in the thigh, there were no regrets.

"I thought you were supposed to arrive in town yesterday?" Mark stalked slowly over to his fallen opponent, clutching painfully at his shoulder. Hunter, too, was gritting his teeth against the agony that ripped through his leg, but his gaze was steady.

"To be honest, _Mark_, there are some people that don't really want you here. And they're willing to pay a tidy sum for anyone to help keep you out."

Behind them, there was the click of several guns being cocked. Hunter put a hand theatrically to his ear, listening out.

"I hear the sound of my ride. You've best leave me alone to go, 'less you want a bullet in your back."

Mark growled as Hunter hauled himself upright and limped away into the darkness. When he was out of sight, a voice called out.

"Don't come looking for again, or you're in for a nasty surprise. The filthy little brat will fill you in. Or he could, if he'd open up his pretty mouth to say something."

Phil was shaking so badly he dropped his gun, and began to curl in on himself. Mark snarled and made to move towards the voices, but the sound of muted hooves melted away into the night, signifying their departure. Mark returned his attention to more immediate things, like the terrified little man crouched near him, and the gash in his right arm.

"Phil, pull yourself together." He said sharply. Phil was hugging his knees to his chest, and still trembling like crazy. He didn't look like he could hear.

"Phil, I can't fix this myself, snap out of it!" To his eternal relief the man obeyed, uncurling and rushing to their saddlebags to fetch some bandages. Mark was prepared – he hadn't thought he'd get out of their ride unscathed, and he was right.

"You any good at doctorin'?" He asked gruffly, plopping down on his blanket. Phil nodded hesitantly before edging forward to help him remove his jacket. He was surprisingly gentle, and tore the shirt off around his wound with a relatively small amount of discomfort.

"Cold," muttered Mark, the loss of blood beginning to make him light-headed. Phil quickly set his own blanket on his left shoulder, tucking it around his waist. Mark grunted his thanks, then hissed in pain as the smaller man began to clean the blood away from his wound. His hand held a white-knuckled grip on the blanket as Phil continued his work, getting out a needle and thread. He paused for a moment before sewing up the wound, and began to rummage through Mark's jacket.

"What the hell...you..." Mark blinked, the edges of his vision were blurring slightly. He felt something being held to his lips, tasted strong liquor on his tongue. Phil's concerned features swam back into view as he lowered the flask, screwing the lid back on. Then a sharp sting shot through his arm a few times, and Phil was bandaging him up firmly.

"You don't mind if I go to sleep now, do you?"

Phil smoothly helped him down onto his pallet by way of answer, and tucked his own blanket around the larger man. Mark was asleep in seconds, and Phil just sat there, stunned at what had just happened. His heart was hammering away, and he had broken out in a cold sweat. He was still shivering, but now it was a mixture of both the cold and of fear. He knew that Mark would need the extra blanket after losing so much blood, but what was he going to do about keeping warm now? After the long day, and the excitement just then, he was drained and frightened and just wanted something warm and comforting.

_Well, he won't mind_ he thought, grabbing Mark's big jacket. It covered him easily, and he lay down next to Mark, pulling the coat over his small frame. He too, fell asleep almost immediately from sheer exhaustion, and dreamed of cigarettes and horses and quiet, dusty trails, and all the other things the jacket smelled of.

***

"Cody, how do you feel?" Ted had just finished similar ministrations on his wounded friend, and tied the bandage expertly.

"Alright... I still don't get how he managed to get me in the dark, though."

"We're going to get that little bitch next time we see him." Snarled Randy, throwing a stick viciously into the fire. "Him and that big fucker Calaway. But first, I think a visit to the Hardys is in order for my boys."


	3. Chapter 3

**I, Hardly Here, do solemnly swear that the only thing in common this fic will have with brokeback mountain is the gay cowboys. Not that it wasn't a great movie.**

*******

For the moment, Mark decided the best thing would be to return to town, rest his wounds and think about his next move. It would have been a straightforward course of action was it not for the small, black haired man riding just behind him. Phil had dealt with Orton and his men before, and could have valuable information on them. He would have to be kept close.

Another part of him felt an unfamiliar affection for him, a slight twist in his gut whenever he saw him in discomfort. It had a funny way of manifesting, though.

"How many times do I have to tell you to hold the _reins_!" he growled.

Phil was again slumped in the saddle. His head was bowed with fatigue, and bobbled around with the movement of his horse. At the sound of Mark's voice, he obediently took the reins and straightened up, a grimace of pain flickering through his features.

"Is it your back?"

A nod.

"Grab the back of your saddle and twist. Gently, now. Won't get rid of the ache but it'll make you a little less stiff."

A series of popping sounds was heard as Phil's spine readjusted, and again as he twisted to the other side. He exhaled softly with relief, and rolled his shoulders.

"What you really need is someone to give you a nice rub down. I've been meaning to pay the Hardys a visit since I got here. They still runnin' their little establishment?"

Phil blushed at the mention of the place, but nodded.

"Good then, we'll go there once I get this thing redressed. Not that you didn't already do a good job, just want the Doc to give it a once-over."

Undertaker quickened a little in anticipation of a nice stable and fresh straw, and Mark didn't notice Phil bite his lip and shudder.

***

"Hey fellas, you lookin' for a good time?"

"Sure am Vickie, but not with you. That's why you're on gate duty."

"Hey! I'll have you know I have a very nice man interested in me."

"Fuckin' crazy Mexicans."

"He's Puerto-rican!"

"Whatever."

The dumpy little woman snarled at them as Mark and Phil made their way in. Phil wore a look that said "Really, you don't have to be doing this for me..._really._" Honestly, he looked so adorable all nervous, like a blushing teenager at his first time what the _fuck_ is going on?

Mark cut off _that _train of thought immediately, and quickened his step. He needed something to get his mind off the pretty face next to him.

"Marky!" He found himself suddenly being hugged by a slender young woman, whose tight cotton dress was hiked up to reveal a pale, well-formed calve. Said calve proceeded to run provocatively up and down his thigh, and as he looked at it more closely, it did seem a little _too_ well-formed... for a woman, anyway.

"Jeff, what the hell are you wearing? And how did you manage to get your hair to turn _blue_?"

The smaller man shrugged, trailing his hand lightly along Mark's good arm, "The peddlar brought it with him from some exotic faraway land..."

"He's the peddlar's best customer by far," Chuckled Matt as he entered the room, in far more appropriate dress.

"Matty, he doesn't like my dress," pouted Jeff, moving his attentions to his brother.

"Ugh, boys, can you save it?" groaned Mark. Phil, too looked horrified – he had clearly never actually been inside before.

"Well then, what're you after today? And what's the mute stableboy doin' here?" Matt winked at Phil, who tried to hide behind Mark.

"You remember your first long ride, Matt?"  
"Ugh, yes. I have no idea what the old man was thinkin'. Couldn't sit properly for a week."

"Well, Phil's just done that cold. You got anyone who's handy with that sorta thing?"

"Sure do, we got all kinds here. And what for you?"

"Oh, you know, the usual."

"Matty, make him take one of the back rooms. He always makes so much _noise_."

***

Phil found himself being led upstairs by a lovely, curvaceous young blonde who, in contrast to himself, seemed to know exactly what to do. She eased him gently onto the bed, the proceeded to undress him slowly, unbuttoning his shirt, undoing his belt buckle and gently slipping his clothing off. Terrified, he just lay there unmoving, watching as she began to do the same thing for herself, leaning down so that he could get a full view of her ample bosom.

"I don't talk that much either," she whispered, running her tongue along her bottom lip, then beginning to undo her dress. He looked away when she slipped the thin cotton off her shoulders, and that's when the penny dropped. She stared at the limp organ between his legs and chuckled.

"Phil? That is your name, right?"

He nodded, still not willing to look at her nakedness. She smiled slightly and slipped her dress back on.

"Don't be scared. I had a brother like you, once. Before we moved here. He got run outta town 'cos of it."

Phil just looked all the more terrified, so she sat down on the bed next to him and began to rub light circles into his back, to soothe him.

"Don't worry, I won't tell no-one if you don't want to."

He leaned gratefully into the touch, taking comfort that his secret was safe. The hands began to rub a little more firmly, working out the tense knots of muscle in the small of his back. He let out a small note of thanks, and was quickly lulled into an exhausted sleep.

***

"Hardy! You better get your little brother's precious ass down here, or else my man Cody's gonna put a bullet in something!"

Jeff gathered up his skirt determinedly and strode out of the room, but Matt caught his arm.

"I don't want them to take you."

"It's only for an hour, Matty."

"But-"

"I'll be fine."

"Jeff, I don't want you to get hurt."

The slighter man planted a kiss gently on his brother's cheek.

"I'll be _fine._"

There was an eerie silence as Jeff turned again, ended suddenly by a loud bellow.

"_It's that fuckin' Undetaker! I'd know that goddamn piece of horseflesh anywhere! Where the FUCK is Calaway? If he's with the Hardy bitch, I'm going to blow his brains out!"_

"Naw boss, he's probably with that little stablehand."

Randy scowled, "Either way, if he's still here when I go up to take my fill, he's dead."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry, long time no update! Then I got these reviews from slashdlite and was like 'OMG I TOTALLY STILL HAVE THAT ONE GOING!!" whoops.**

**Not a **_**whole**_** lot of action going on here. Just sorta... setting up? Sorry!**

Mark was dressed and had bolted into Phil's room even before the man had gotten his trousers halfway up.

"Get out of here." He said sharply to the girl, "And damnit Phil, hurry up!" His hand twitched near his side where his gun hung.

"Calaway! I got a deal for you. You and your little bitch haul your asses out of here, I have some sweet times with little Jeffrey here, and everyone's happy."

Phil was already helping Mark out of the window – he was finding it hard to climb with only one good hand, but somehow they managed to slither their way down to the bottom. Matt had seen fit to install a ladder there, discreetly hidden by some climbing plants (more commonly used by lover who didn't want to be found.)

Phil was lingering a little, and Mark plucked at his sleeve.

"Jeff'll be alright, Orton's not going to hurt him too much. Now is not a good time." He tapped his arm lightly.

Phil shook his head, opening his mouth as if he were about to say something to the contrary, but he quickly closed it, and walked briskly over to his horse.

"Good man." Murmured Mark, mounting 'Taker.

***

"What'll it be?"

"Dunno Paul, what is your recommendation for tonight?"

The two of them chuckle as Paul poured Mark a generous glass of whiskey.

"Perfect." Grinned Mark, tossing the whole thing back in a gulp. Something seemed to occur to Paul.

"You seen Phil since you got back?"

"Nope. He just stayed in the stables, probably got a lot of work to catch up on."

"That's weird, he usually comes in to eat around now."

"Well, maybe you should get Becca to bring him out something."

Paul froze in the act of cleaning a glass.

"Christ, you have been away a long time." He murmured, "Becca's been dead for months now." He set the glass down and leaned in, checking to see if anyone was listening in.

"She was ridin' out to the Mexican ranch for a visit, and she never came back. Shawn found her body a few days later. Bullet straight to the heart. No question as to who done it."

Mark exhaled roughly and pushed his glass towards Paul for another shot.

"Speaking of which, where is Shawn? I gotta talk to him."

"Oh, he's out of town for a couple of days. Getting some, ah, supplies." Paul chuckled, "Hunter's watchin' the place for him, though. Pretty nice of him, being as he seems to have picked up a bum leg on the road."

Mark winced inwardly at the thought of his own injury, hidden in the sleeve of his coat, and considered telling Paul about Hunter. But that would oblige Paul and the others to react, which would bring an all-out war that Shawn really didn't need at the moment. Best to play things smart for now.

Mark bided his time, chatting the night away with Paul until the wee hours of the morning. In fact, it was nearing two o'clock when Phil came in; tired, filthy and hungry-looking. He sat down at the bar with a certain tentativeness Mark didn't miss.

"Geez you're late Phil, did you really have that much work to catch up on? Well, it's bread and milk for tonight; kitchen's been closed for hours."

Phil nodded, seemingly too tired to care. Mark shuffled his chair over a little closer to him.

"Hunter's here runnin' the joint while Shawn's away," he muttered.

Phil noddd that he already knew, but refused to meet Mark's eyes.

"Somethin' wrong?"

A large hand landed heavily on Phil's shoulder, causing him to jump.

"Ain't nothin' wrong. He's just tired, and still sore from that huge fuckin' ride you took him on," smirked Hunter, leaning in so that his lips almost brushed the smaller man's ear.

"Isn't that right?" He whispered, "Now you two just stay here and drink your whiskey, and you'll stay outta harm's way." He straightened up as Paul entered with Phil's supper.

"Well, I'll be seein' you two 'round." He said, a little too loudly, and exited.

Mark sighed and looked at Phil, who despite his best efforts was shaking like a leaf.

"You want a bit of flavour in your drink?" He asked, to ease the tension. He waggled his glass at Phil, but frowned when the younger man's gaze dropped and he drew in a long, shuddering breath, shaking his head almost shamefully.

"He don't like it," Said Paul, "Don't know why... sometimes he acts like he's scared of the stuff."

***

The sun was well up when Mark found Phil, still asleep in an empty stall. He hated to wake him; if he was sleeping so late, he must've run himself ragged last night taking care of the horses. Another thought of what might have happened in the dark stable last night occurred to him, but he shook it away – they had to keep moving.

"Wake up," He called gruffly, tossing two items of faded leather onto the sleeping man, jolting him out of his slumber. Phil sat up and looked at them sleepily, then up at mark, confused.

"You put them on your legs. They'll stop them from chafing. Now come on, if you still want to ride with me."


	5. Chapter 5

They were going to get Undertaker re-shod, or at least that's what Mark told Paul. In reality, he planned on asking everyone in town what they knew about Orton's elusive hideout. He was a man to be reckoned with, and the twinge in Mark's arm reminded him that he needed to be prepared.

He didn't know why he took Phil with him. A part of him - the part that had wanted to draw Phil closer when Hunter approached - knew it wasn't wise to leave the man alone at Shawn's for the moment. On the upside, Phil was sitting more easily in the saddle now that his calves weren't being chafed to shreds.

"Well, good to see nothing's changed." Mark acknowledged the old but sturdy building that was John's smithy. "John and I go back a long way. The man's saved my neck more than a few times."

From within came the sound of clanging, whistling and incoherent shouts. The day was hot already, but as they approached a familiar blast of heat reminded him of the old days he had spent in the oven-like room. However, when he walked in it became clear that something _had _changed. Instead of the huge, hulking figure that used to work at the forge there was a slighter, younger man hammering away.

"Junior?" Mark couldn't keep the apprehension from creeping into his voice. The smith's son had always been too... well... _pretty_ for the job. True, his normally flawless hair hung in sweat-veiled strands around his face and his face was slick with perspiration, soot and grime but the unusual handsomeness was still there. He nodded his welcome and continued to beat at the metal until it took the form of a horseshoe.

"Adam!" he panted, setting down the hammer and drawing a sleeve across his brow. A tall blonde came in from the next room with a bucket of water in each hand, which he poured into the tub. John plunged the shoe in, and the loud hissing as the water cooled the metal made Phil jump. John chuckled and set the piece of metal down, pulling the leather apron over his head and taking off his gloves.

"Mark," He nodded again, still panting slightly, "How're things?"

"Same old. Got tired of wanderin' for a while. Probably get tired of stayin' still pretty soon. You?"

John passed his sleeve over his face again, serving only to smudge the dirt. "Took over from Dad. Never realised how tiring it was doin' this all day. So what brings you here?"

"This old brute." Mark patted his faithful horse on the neck. "You think you can handle him?"

"Dad was always better with him," John smiled sadly, "But I'll see what I can do. You know where the stable is?"

"So long as Orton and his men haven't decided to steal it. 'Round the back, right?"

John paused on his way to the washstand.

"All conversation 'round here turns to those three eventually," he muttered. His voice sounded strained, as though there was something more to the statement than he cared to share.

"'Taker." Mark turned his horse's head towards himself, "I want you to go around the back with Phil. No funny business."

Undertaker snorted and walked out on his own, Phil taking the hint as a command and following suit. John poured the jug of water over his head and scrubbed at his face. He took his time washing up, peeling his sweat-soaked shirt off and running the washcloth along his tired muscles. He seemed to be avoiding Mark's gaze, much like Phil had a habit of doing. Adam made his way over to his friend and put his hands around his waist, allowing John to lean back gratefully into him. The nature of their relationship was a strict secret to everyone except to Mark, who had caught them once in the tub together.

"What's going on?"

"Orton and his boys..." John's eyes never left the dusty floor, "They started coming in a few months back, demanded that we re-shoe all their horses for free. Dad did it the first time 'cos he thought they couldn't afford it and he hates to see a good horse bein' treated bad. They disappear for about a month, and then their shoes are all worn thin, and they ask him to do it again. " He pushed the hair out of his face with a shaky hand "Well, you know Dad, he said no so they put a bullet in his head."

The world seemed to pause around them as the reality of their situation sank in. This was all becoming a bit much for Mark; His brother, then Becca and now John senior were all dead. Murdered. John junior was still slumped in his lover's embrace, silent tears now trailing down his cheeks. His eyes fluttered shut for a while and Adam rocked him gently, whispering something into his ear. In a way he would never, ever admit, Mark envied them. His allies had fallen one by one, and it was dawning on him that he was really only one man. Yes, he liked travelling alone but he was beginning to believe it would be impossible for him to carry this fight by himself.

John scrubbed at his face, turning to smile briefly at Adam.

"Sorry. I just..." he sighed, "I'll have 'Taker ready for you before the day's out. I'd ask you inside for a drink, but-"

"That's fine." Mark tipped his hat, unsure of what else he could say. "I'll, uh, be back tonight then."

He turned to leave and found Phil leaning against the doorframe.

"Well, I think it's time we went on our way."

***

"That was fucking _useless_," Growled Mark, striding down the street with Phil close on his heels.

"They've killed John, too. Although I gather you heard." He didn't look behind him for confirmation of this statement.

"I hate them." To his horror at that moment, his voice broke. He immediately quickened his pace, furious that he had let himself slip. He assumed Phil was all but running to keep up with him, but then he felt a firm tug at his coat.

"What?" he said roughly. Phil picked up a stone from the side of the road, and rubbed it on the sole of his boot, showing Mark the small smudge of leather it had rubbed off. Mark stared at it for a while in confusion before it clicked.

"Phil, you're a genius."

The smaller man blushed and smiled slightly.

"We should go see the Mexicans. They've got maps, and they know the outskirts pretty well."

Phil hesitated, and then pointed in the direction of the Hardys.

"What do you want to go there for? Not hungry for some more action already are we?"

He shook his head, horrified at the suggestion but continued to point at the building. Mark cocked an eyebrow.

"You want to see if Jeff's alright?"

A nod.

"Well aren't you a caring little kid. Come on then."


	6. Chapter 6

**Gloamiing: Thank you? I hope you and the fic have a nice time together XD**

**Actually in general thank you for your reviews! You guys all keep me on track ^_^**

*******

"We're closed." Snarled Vicky, flapping her hands at the two approaching men to shoo them away.

"We ain't here on business, don't you worry." Smirked Mark, pushing past her with his good arm. She fussed and complained, but let them pass nonetheless.

Something was wrong. The normally warm and friendly occupants of the Hardy's were now jumpy and unresponsive. Phil saw the girl who had taken care of him last time, and waved shyly. She smiled for a moment, but then seemed to remember something and dashed up the staircase.

"You've got a lot of nerve showin' your face here." Growled a voice from behind them.

"Matt," Mark turned around smoothly, removing his hat, "Now, what have I done to deserve a welcome like that?"

"Oh, excuse me but there's no _welcome_ for you here. Get out."

"Now listen," Mark advanced on the elder Hardy, hand twitching near his hip where his guns hung, "Phil and I are on our way to figgerin' out where Randy and his boys are. It's risky business already, but the kid found it in his heart to check on Jeff before we left. I'd think that would deserve-"

"Oh yes," Matt spat, "You run away like yeller bastards when the guns are out but you come back afterwards to look like the good, Christian men you are. Fuck you."

Mark froze, processing what had just been said.

"Shit," he whispered, "What happened?"

Matt ran a shaky hand over his head, loosening the piece of string that tied his hair back.

"They were in there for hours... I couldn't do anything, not with those two... friends of his with their guns trained on me. I coulda used some help, Mark."

"You heard Orton. He said if we left-"

"_Since when have you ever listened to anyone but yourself?"_ Screamed Matt, and he struck the older man in the face.

"Coward."

Mark bristled at the insult, and snapped his fingers behind him, at Phil.

"I can see we're not wanted. You can see the younger Hardy boy some other time." He made to leave, but noticed an empty space where Phil should have been.

"Come on, boy. Haven't got all day." He said loudly. He was greeted with silence.

"Dammit Phil, where are you?"

"He's in here," came a soft reply.

"Don't you dare go near Jeff!" Shouted Matt, running to their bedroom with Mark close behind.

Jeff was in bed, his bluish hair spread across the pillow like some kind of freakish halo. His face sported an ugly bruise, and there were numerous welts on the rest of him that disappeared under his clothes. Phil was kneeling beside him, biting his lip. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but like always no words came out. Instead he reached for Jeff's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

"Don't touch my brother!"

Phil jumped at the sound, and let go immediately. Tears stung at his eyes and he ducked his head, painfully aware that he was being watched. It was Jeff who resolved the issue.

"He's a good man Matty, don't yell at him. He-" Jeff's voice trailed off as Mark entered. A flash of fear of the huge man crossed his features, but it disappeared quickly when he realised who it was.

"Oh, Hi Mark."

Matt snarled, but let it slide for now. He had something else on his mind.

"So you figgered out where Randy and his boys stay?"

"Kind of. See, we were just over at John's, and he said their horses' shoes get worn down mighty fast."

"And?"

"Well, Phil reckons they set up in a rocky kind of area. Wears their shoes down."

Matt stroked his chin. "Clever man."

Jeff's eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled slowly.

"I... could you please not talk about him right now?"

_Oh shit._ Thought Mark, "Jeff, I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay," whispered the young man, although the look in his eyes told another story. Phil crumbled at this, and he began to weep quietly, burying his face in his hands.

"Pull yourself together, man!" said Matt, "You're not the one that's hurt." He made to grab Phil, remove him from the room perhaps but Mark stopped him.

"Let me." He pulled the smaller man up and guided him out to the back courtyard, which was thankfully deserted save a couple of horses. That look in Jeff's eyes before he had recognised it was Mark... it was the same fearful expression he had seen in Phil the first time they had met. The only reason Phil would have lost it like that at Jeff's condition would be if he had already been there. But he had to find out for sure.

"Shirt off." Growled Mark, standing in front of Phil with his hands on his hips. Phil stared at him apprehensively, but complied nonetheless. Mark's breath hitched for a moment, but he forced those thoughts aside. Grabbing a corner of the discarded shirt, he dipped a corner in the water trough and motioned for Phil to come towards him.

"Turn around." Mark began to gently wash away the sweat and the grime, finally exposing the flesh underneath. Phil was a stableboy and before that, god knows what, but he sure as hell didn't bathe. Not many people did, really – it was more a luxury to be enjoyed once in a while rather than a necessity. But the dust and the dirt became almost ingrained into the skin, and worked very well to hide some things.

Mark set the shirt down and stared at Phil's back. The young man had realised what was happening, and had begun to tremble slightly. Mark's finger ghosted over the newly healed scars that marred Phil's skin. Some were large, angry red welts; others were small and white and crisscrossed his flesh like skeins of spider silk. All of them though, looked painful.

"I don't think there's much of a question as to who did this to you." Said Mark quietly.

Phil nodded, unwilling to turn around and look Mark in the eye. Would he think him weak? Well, there was certainly no question about that since he had cried in front of three other men just before; and heaven be damned if he hadn't started to cry right now. Shit.

His shoulders began to shake slightly as he tried to swallow his sobs, but to no avail. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and he hung his head, letting the hair cover his face.

Suddenly, strong hands were on his waist, pulling him close. Mark spun him around and, after checking to see if anyone was watching, held him gently against his chest. Phil needed a little while to rest, away from the rest of the world, and Mark had just found him the perfect place.

***

**Need... more... action... ^_^"**

**Next chapter, I promise. Guns and horses and Mexicans and Legacy and shit.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, so I'm back on track now. I hope you enjoy ^_^ I'm not trying to racially stereotype Mexicans or anything, but this is how they're generally portrayed in westerns.**

**Also, I don't speak Spanish, so if I screw it up please tell me.**

**Oscar = Rey Mysterio**

*******

Oscar was a good man. He made a modest living on his ranch in the outskirts of town, took good care of his family and always came home on time from poker night. He never smoked around his children. Mark kept this in mind as he approached the little house. He was careful to keep his guns hidden by his coat and stuck Phil's colt into the band of his Levi's. Phil seemed to have recovered his wits and although he seemed a little embarrassed, Mark was relieved that no awkwardness had sprung up between them like had feared might happen.

"Papi!" A young boy seemed to have sprung up from the long grass outside and began rapping intently at the door.

"Papi, there are people here for you! A big man and the mute stablehand!"

"Cállate! Don't be rude." The door swung open and Mark found himself greeted by the small Mexican. His face lit up when he noticed Mark.

"Dominik, this is my old friend Mark. Don't be so rude to him in the future."

"Sorry, Mark." The boy grinned up at him and then bounded off outside once more. Oscar chuckled and then gestured for them to enter.

"I heard you arrived in town a few days back," He winked at Phil, "I also heard you taken a shine to Shawn's stableboy."

Phil fidgeted in the doorway, not really sure how to react. Oscar laughed and continued,

"Well come, drink and refresh yourselves! It's a hot day."

"As much as I would love to, we have a little business to attend to. Do you know of any particularly rocky areas on the outskirts?"

Oscar stiffened.

"Only one. Why?"

"Where is it?"

He shook his head and turned away.

"No. No. I know what you're going to do and I'm telling you you are gonna get yourselves killed."

Mark took a moment to process wthis.

"You know." He hissed. "You fucking know where they hide out."

"I ain't gonna tell you nothin'. You gonna get yourselves killed."

Mark grabbed Oscar by his shirt front.

"Tell me."

The Mexican shook his head stubbornly.

"Now listen," Mark brought his face forward so that he was almost touching noses with him, "They killed Glenn. They killed Becca. They killed John. Now, you might say that killing Orton ain't gonna bring them back, but they also hurt Phil, badly. He's recently become the one thing on this godforsaken planet I can bring myself to give a shit about, so you better opened that goddamn fuckin' mouth of yours and _tell me_."

Oscar's eyes darted from Mark to Phil, and then to his little girl who had come out from the kitchen.

"Papi, Qué onda?" she poked her head and looked up at them with big, brown eyes.

"Aaliyah, go to your room." Oscar frowned when the girl stayed put. "Do you want me to say it twice?" He sighed and closed his eyes.

"I have a map. It's about sixty miles out."

***

Undertaker looked as close to happy as the bad-tempered horse could possibly be when they fetched him from the smith. He trotted proudly when they arrived, pausing only to snap his teeth at Phil. John on the other hand looked little worse for wear. There was a hoof-shaped bruise on his right shoulder, and he looked totally exhausted. He waved them a weary farewell before slumping into Adam's arms.

Mark decided that they would set out at first light. There was no sense in riding to their deaths in the night, and Phil looked as though he'd benefit from a night's _undisturbed_ rest. As they sat eating that night, Mark snagged Evan when he came past with his mop.

"When you're done cleanin' that shit, have an extra sleeping pallet sent up to my room."

"Yessir! You got some good company tonight?" he grinned, dodging the forthcoming swipe that came from Mark.

"You oughta learn to stop runnin' that mouth of yours, boy."

"Sure thing, mister." Evan bounced off to finish his duties, unperturbed.

"That boy enjoys himself too much for a town like this," remarked Paul, forever in the act of pouring out a whiskey.

That night, Phil slept on the floor in Mark's room, for which he was grateful. It was the most peaceful night he had spent in a long time.

***

The soft sound of crying filtered through the stable as Hunter walked through, looking for Phil.

"Stop crying you dumb little shit, or I'll-"

He broke off as he entered the stall and found a small girl tied up there, crying for what sounded like her Papi.

"What in the hell..?"

"Helmsley." He jumped, gun in hand and turned to find Orton and his two boys staring at him from the dark.

"Shit, you got stop scarin' me like that."

"We're not _that_ scary, are we?" Asked Cody innocently.

"How could you be scared of a face like this?" Ted cupped his friend's chin and laughed at Hunter.

"Fuck you."

"Frivolities aside, I have word that we're going to be expecting some visitors tomorrow." Orton smirked and reached behind his back. "Tell him."

A small Mexican man was shoved forward out of the shadows.

"M-Mark and Phil. They're gonna come and find you guys tomorrow. They know where your hideout is."

"And who told them that?" asked Orton sweetly, bringing his gun up and cocking it at his daughter.

"I-I did!" He gasped, "I told them."

"Good. Just letting you know that you've done us a great service. Now, Cody here's going to babysit your little kiddie until tomorrow, just to make sure you don't got blabbin' or nothin'. You'll get her back, provided you be a good boy." Orton smiled. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

***

**Okay, so we're back on track with the impending action. Phew!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Finally. This chapter took aaaaaages XD**

*******

Mark and Phil rode out in silence at sunrise. The inhabitants of the town had not yet stirred, and it was strangely quiet as they rode through. The silence was good – Mark could hear every footstep of his horses, every creak of a rusty door hinge and every swish of the wind blowing through his hair. He knew that if anyone approached, he'd be ready for them. He held the reins in one hand and balanced the map in the other, scanning the landscape for the various landmarks.

"We should reach there in an hour or so." He remarked, earning a nod from Phil,

"We just passed that group of trees," he tapped the map. A slightly awkward silence passed between them, then he settled back in the saddle. He wanted to talk now. As stupid as that was coming from a man who savoured isolation and solitude, he wanted to hear Phil speak, wanted to find out more about the curious fellow. What would his voice sound like?

"There's the cactus," said Mark, "Which means up ahead should be..." He looked up from the map expectantly.

"The... canyon..."

It was desert all around, and the occasional group of boulders.

"What the _fuck_?" Hissed Mark.

There was a loud gunshot, and suddenly Phil's horse whinnied and reared in pain, throwing him from the saddle. Blood gushed from its chest, splattering its rider and soaking through the dusty earth. Phil scrambled for his colt and fired a shot in the opposite direction, earning a yelp from the distance.

"Fuck," muttered Mark, wheeling Undertaker around to check on Phil. He was faced, however, with Ted and Orton, who had grabbed Phil and held a pistol to his head.

"Never thought your pal Oscar'd sell you out, would you? Drew the map up myself." Laughed Orton.

Mark said nothing, but growled at him.

"You a gambling man, Mark? I hear you were one of the best at the card table back when you lived here."

"Don't waste my fuckin' time."

"Oh, I'm not. This is legitimate. I'm in such a good mood right now," he paused to rake a hand roughly through Phil's hair, "I think I'm going to raise the stakes. I'm going to _show_ you where we live. That should be fun, shouldn't it?"

Hunter staggered out from behind a boulder, shotgun hanging loosely in his grip. Blood blossomed from a wound on his shoulder.

"Would you hurry up, the stablehand fuckin' _shot_ me."

Orton brought his hand up and shot Mark in the arm, re-opening the old wound.

"There, you're even. Now shut up." He returned his attention to Mark.

"So, we're going to take Phil for a little trip. Thing is, we don't want you hearing our little secret. So could you just move away from us? Not far... just back into town should do."

"If you think for one second I'm going to let him out of my sight..."

"Oh, but you will. You see, you've got a bit of a problem here," sneered Orton, giving Phil an extra hard shove as if to prove his point.

"You see, come any closer and your little bitch dies. Stay much longer and you'll bleed to death before you get to town. Plus your little bitch dies. Best thing for you right now is to turn that ugly horse of yours around and head back to Shawn's and enjoy the place while you still can."

The pain only served to heighten Mark's rage, and it didn't help that he was starting to feel a little woozy. He kicked Undertaker sharply towards Orton, but the horse didn't move. He dug the heels of his boots harder into the horse's flanks, but still nothing.

"The hell is wrong with you, goddamn horse!"

'Taker just snorted at him and wheeled around, gaining speed in the direction of the town.

"Your horse knows what's good for you!" laughed Ted.

It hurt too much to tug at the reins, so Mark simply growled in frustration. Orton had the upper hand – for now.

***

They tied Phil's hands together and set him up in front of Randy. He had never been so frightened in his life as he was now, in the arms of the larger man. At least they weren't making It was nightfall when they reached a huge canyon. From the edge Phil could see several caves, floored with rugs and blankets and furnished with various bits and pieces. From the range of items down there, he assumed that they were stolen. He gasped when Orton dismounted and tugged him off as well.

"Don't worry, we won't hurt you. I'm not in the mood, to be honest." Orton reached down to cup Phil's chin, and laughed when he shrank away from the touch. He then leaned forward and whispered something into his ear, making him shudder.

"Now, you be a good boy and when you get back, tell Marky where we live." laughed Ted.

"Oh wait, you can't! Well you could show him on one of Oscar's maps. Oh wait, we replaced all of those!"

"You can lead him back out here. If you can still stand by the time you're done." Orton smirked and cracked Phil in the jaw with the butt of his pistol.

"Start walking. Town's that way." He jerked his head westwards.

***

The night was short; after all, it was summer, and before long the delicate rays of the morning sun had turned to harsh bolts of heat that beat relentlessly on his uncovered head. Phil just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other for now; if he tried to look across the vast stretch of desert before him, he would drive himself mad.

Mother nature saw fit to blast him with hot gusts of wind, which whipped grains of sand into his face. Then mingled with the sweat which trickled down his face, soaking his shirt. His long sleeves were stifling in the heat, but he couldn't take his shirt off or he'd burn, and be worse off than he was now. He silently cursed his fair skin, and found himself longing for Mark and his big black hat.

The sand was the hardest to walk through; every step he took was rewarded by sliding a half-step back. It drained him faster than walking on solid ground – unpredictable terrain is exhausting. It was excruciatingly hard to keep going in those areas, and more than once he considered just allowing his tired limbs to tumble down the dune, never to be seen again.

The grit got into everything, his boots, his clothing, his hair. His feet ached, but he needed to keep going; if he stopped, he was certain he wouldn't be able to start again. So long as he kept moving, everything would turn out fine, and he would be back to Mark in no time.

By the evening he had stopped sweating completely – his body had nothing left to give. That was when he saw the town, just up ahead in the distance. He ran his tongue uselessly over his chapped lips and tried to swallow – his mouth felt like dust.

By the time he reached the town, he was half-delirious with thirst, panting heavily from the heat and gasping for water. He looked terrible; damp, tangled hair clung to his sunburnt cheeks. He couldn't walk in a straight line, and it was either by sheer luck or some incredible homing instinct that he ended up in the stable at Shawn's, since he wasn't really taking in anything his senses were detecting anymore. Mark had dressed his wound and was tending to 'Taker when a skinny, dishevelled little creature staggered in, collapsing insensible in the doorway.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Mark scooped him up immediately, stomach twisting in fury at the cruelty that had occurred. He carried Phil into the room he had been renting from Shawn, tucking him into the bed with a gentleness he never thought he possessed. Water. He needed water.

Mark grabbed the glass on his bedside table and dipped his finger in it, moistening Phil's lips and trickling a few drops into his mouth. He then grabbed his kerchief and dampened it, laying the cool cloth across his forehead.

"Oh god, what have they done to you..." He whispered. Phil mewled softly in pain, and opened his mouth for more water.

"Not too much now." Said Mark, giving him a few more drops.

The smaller man's breathing was still thick and laboured, but he managed to gasp out a soft thank you and clutch at Mark's arm, before the world swam red before his eyes, tilted crazily and then went black.

_No,_ Mark decided _I'm not going to kill Orton after all. It's too good for him._

In fact, Mark was so busy thinking about what punishment would be most appropriate that he completely missed the fact that, for the first time ever, Phil had spoken to him.

***

**Now I feel bad. But it's okay. Things get better!**


	9. Chapter 9

**So apparently there's meant to be a warning when there's character death in the future. WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH UP AHEAD.**

**Thanks to everyone who's being reading this! And especially to those of you who reviewed ^_^. **

**It's highly encouraging.**

***

Shawn came back that morning to find that no-one was looking after his bar, his stableboy was gone and one of his horses was missing. He was therefore livid when he entered Mark's room.

"Okay Mark, talk. What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Mark jumped at the noise, having spent all morning waiting fretfully by Phil's side.

"Shawn, goddamnit you're going to be the death of me. It's a little hard to explain-"

A whimper from the far side of the room diverted both of their attentions.

"Shit, is that _Phil_?" Shawn knelt swiftly by the bedside, taking in the sight of his sleeping stable hand. He looked ill and exhausted, but at least he was resting.

"Orton... they took him out into the desert and made him walk back." Mark snarled at the memory. "They're out of control, Shawn."

"An understatement if I ever heard one." Shawn nodded towards Mark's injured arm, then straightened up with a groan.

"I'll have something sent up for the both of you."

"Wait. There's another thing."

Shawn paused on the way out the door.

"Hunter, he... Betrayed us. He's with Orton."

Shawn's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Instead, he adjusted his hat and left Mark to his thoughts. One question in particular turned around and around in his head: where had the dark-haired boy – Cody, if he remembered correctly – been? Another whimper, and Mark peered over at Phil. _No, he's still sleeping. Huh._

Mark's eyes flickered upwards, and realised that the whimpers had been coming from next door, and were far too high-pitched to be coming from a man. He stared at the wall, senses now on high alert and heard the sound of a gun clicking, a hiss for someone to be quiet. Another tap at the door came shortly after. John and Adam were standing in the doorway, looking rather concerned.

"Adam says he saw someone walk into town this morning. Looked in pretty bad shape." He peered over at Phil, "Said it looked like Shawn's stable hand."

"And he'd be right about that." Sighed Mark, returning his attention to Phil who was thankfully still asleep. He ran his fingers through the soft black hair and rubbed a smudge of dirt from Phil's cheek with his thumb.

"I suppose you're gonna give Orton another crack now."

"John," Mark growled, "Did you come over here to run your mouth or have you got somethin' to say?"

"We're coming with you." Said Adam, coming forward and offering his hand. Mark stared at it as though it were a rattlesnake about to strike.

"I don't need no-one to ride with me."

"Well you've had a heap of luck with that so far," snapped Adam, a tad agitated. When a man offered his hand, it was almost an insult not to take it.

"Don't do that to me boy, you have no idea-"

"Goddamn it Mark, just take it! We're going to help you." Sighed John. He ran his hand up and down Adam's other arm comfortingly, and Mark once again felt that odd sense of longing stir inside him. He took the offered hand, and shook it slowly up, down, then back to the middle.

"I don't need you two haulin' your asses after me."

He responded to the men's outraged expressions by jerking his head towards the far wall and miming a gun with his hand. They exchanged a look, and John winked and nodded that he understood.

"Asshole."

"I didn't mean no harm by it. It's just that I like to travel alone."

"S'cuse me," Evan entered, ducking under the arms of the two men in the doorway while balancing a tray of soup. Mark's eyes flickered from John and his partner to Evan, then to Phil. He made a decision. He dug around in his pockets for some money, and unfolded a ten dollar bill, waving it in front of the boy's nose.

"See this?" he whispered, bringing a finger to his lips.

"Sure do." said Evan quietly.

"Good man. It's for you if you'll keep an eye on Phil here when I leave. Don't give him too much of anything at any one time or you'll make him sick."

Evan looked up at him wide-eyed and his lips moved silently as he processed Mark's words. Then a grin split his face and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Got it sir! Have fun... wherever you're goin'."

Mark cuffed him on the back of the head and sent him out again.

"I'll send for you when we're ready."

Mark watched the boy leave, then returned to his new friends.

"I need to wait until he wakes up," he indicated Phil, "Since I'm fairly sure he'll have some good information on Orton and his men."

Adam raised an eyebrow at this.

"Well, let's hope he's damn good at signin' 'cos I don't reckon tryin' to talk to him's gonna help none."

Mark felt a weak tug at his sleeve. Phil was looking up at him with a bleary-eyed gaze.

"Howdy," he smiled, leaning down to hold the smaller man's hand. Phil smiled a little in reply and tried to shift closer, but his smile quickly became a grimace of pain.

"Whoa there, let me-" He eased Phil so that he was propped up by his pillow and the wall.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you." The voice was soft, rusty with disuse but hell, it was _there._ Mark stared at him in disbelief, and Phil blushed and looked down.

"Y-you just-"

Phil nodded and bit his lip.

"I don't... Cody and Orton and everyone didn't used to like me talking-" He broke off into a fit of coughing, and Mark hurried to bring the glass of water to his lips, which he sipped gratefully.

"Just got used to it." He rasped. He gave Mark another small smile and slumped back against the wall, drained.

"That man is gonna pay for this. For everythin'. Bet your life."

Phil motioned for Mark to come closer.

"If you get a pencil and some paper, I'll write you some instructions."

Mark shifted uncomfortably at this. He was a man of the outdoors, of the beaten track and the glorious freedom of not having a home. He'd spent most of his adolescence learning how to use his guns, not wasting his time in the schoolhouse. A glance over at Adam and John told him they were just as out of place as he was. John had been an apprentice from an early age and Adam... well, no-one around these parts really bothered with reading. It was a superfluous pursuit. Phil noted this with a hint of amusement.

"Maybe I'll just draw it for you."

While he did so, Mark took John and Adam outside to discuss their plan of attack.

"Where the hell's he gonna get a _dress_ from without people askin' questions?"

"I think Shawn's got a wagon he don't use no more just outside."

"And what're we gonna do about, you know..." Adam jerked his head towards the room next to theirs.

"Huh. You got a gun on you?"

***

Cody had in fact taken charge of the empty room next door, and now he turned to Oscar and Aaliyah, his two captives. He produced a thin piece of metal from his pocket and began to attach it to his gun.

"I cannot _believe_ Randy didn't waste him!" he said angrily, "And the stupid shit doesn't ever seem to give up. _Now_ how am I going to go help Randy? I'm stuck with you two. I think I'm going to have to kill you."

The gunshot fired with an undramatic _thunk, _and Oscar fell limp, blood leaking from a hole right in the middle of his head_._ Cody quickly turned his attention to Aaliyah, ready to silence her as well, but the girl was far too terrified to make a sound, to move, even to breathe.

"Any last words?" he smirked at the corpse, then dragged the child up.

"You know, if you tell anyone about us, I'm going to do the same thing to you." He inhaled sharply as footsteps from outside drew close to his room.

"Remember that."

He clambered swiftly out the window just as the door opened and Mark, flanked by Adam and John aimed their guns at the terrified daughter of their now deceased friend.

"Shit. I mean – uh - oh my god..." Mark just stood there with his gun, totally bewildered as to what to do. John had to gently push his gun arm down, and move slowly closer to the little girl. She began to cry as he approached her, babbling at him in a strange mixture of English and Spanish.

"Hey sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you." John knelt beside her and laid a hand on her back, which made her cry even harder.

"We're gonna take you back to your mummy, okay? Okay kid?" he picked her up as carefully as he could, and rocked her a bit, at a loss to what else to say. Her father's bloodied corpse was still lying there on the floor. Adam knelt beside Oscar and made the sign of the cross over him.

"Adam, go get Paul and Evan to come clean this up. We're losing time as it is."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and let out a long breath.

"As much as I hate this, you're right. This ends today."

***

***Cue epic music***


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm really disappointed that I got into Beer Money **_**after**_** I started this fic. 'Cos I totally would have used them instead of Legacy. They'd be ten times more awesome, too. *braces self for hate***

Ted whined and shifted slightly from his position, crouched behind a small rock formation.

"Keep your voice down, you never know when they're going to come past!" Hissed Randy.

"How d'you know Cody's right?"

"I know." The statement was final, and Ted fell silent, "He'll be here soon. Actually, here he comes now."

A cloud of dust made its way down the road. No-one used this track anymore... not unless they were going to a very specific canyon belonging to one Randy Orton. Ted sprang out from his hiding spot and aimed his gun... at a farmer and his wife. His very young, beautiful wife from what they could see under the tightly fastened ribbons of her bonnet. They were riding in a small wagon, which must have been hidden by the infernal dust.

"You're a long way off the main road, partner," improvised Ted, unsure of what to do. Randy walked out casually, watching the situation with mild interest.

"We're willing to let you go on your way, however." He eyed the woman hungrily, "For a price."

The farmer kept his head down the whole time, but now his knuckles tightened around his rifle.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Ted, drawing closer to them, "You see, you're outnumbered here, Three to one. Well, one and a half if you count the little lady."

At that, another rifle appeared from behind a large boulder, and out stepped Hunter. A small gasp was heard from the direction of the wagon, and Ted pointed his gun sharply at the woman.

"Know him, do you? I haven't seen your pretty face around town... But that don't matter."

The farmer twitched, still not loosening his grip on the rifle.

"Put the damn thing down or I put a bullet in you and take your wife."

The woman placed a lace-gloved hand on the knee of her husband, and they shared a meaningful look. He put the gun down, and Ted holstered his pistol.

"Good man. Now-" He climbed up and cupped the woman's chin, turning her face so that he could gaze into it.

Randy had been watching the whole situation with more than a small amount of pride – he had taught his boys well. He was still scanning the landscape for any sign of Calaway when one of the horses drawing the wagon snorted and pawed at the ground angrily. Shit. Why hadn't he noticed before?

"Ted!" he shouted, but it was too late. The woman had a pistol to his boy's stomach. With her other hand she reached up and ripped off the bonnet.

"Fuck, how the hell does that Hardy boy put up with this?"

The farmer aimed his rifle carefully at Orton,

"I don't know, love. I don't know."

***

_A few hours earlier..._

"Can you not see the sign on the door?" Shouted Matt, "We're closed! Stop your goddamn knocking!"

"It's Calaway! I... We need your help."

Matt eyed the door nervously, then undid the lock, opening the door a crack.

"Mark? John? What do you want?"

He looked past the elder Hardy to Jeff, who was looking a lot better.

"I need a dress for John here. I was wondering if your brother couldn't make a woman of him."

"Johnny!" Jeff pushed past Matt, throwing the door wide open, and seized John's hand. He pulled him in and led him up the stairs to his room.

"We'll be out in a minute!"

"Jeff-" began John nervously

The door slammed shut.

***

Shawn watched the proceedings from his place in the wagon, beside Mark. They hadn't been noticed yet thank god, but he was beginning to have second thoughts to allowing those two to join them. John and Adam weren't made for fighting. They were both far too gentle-natured.

That was the reason he had joined them as they were riding out. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself. That, and the opportunity to get his hands on Hunter.

John jammed the pistol further into Ted's ribcage, making him wince.

"Now now blacksmith, killin' my boy ain't gonna bring your daddy back." Said Randy slowly as he inched towards them. Adam 's finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle.

"I wouldn't try any funny business at the moment, Orton."

A gunshot from Hunter whistled past their heads, distracting them momentarily – then all hell broke loose. Ted took the opportunity to grab John and fling him off the carriage. Adam hesitated, torn between keeping Orton at gunpoint and going to the aid of his lover, but then Mark sprang out of the wagon, leaping on Orton with a loud yell. Shawn continued to lay low, waiting for Hunter to come closer. In his hand he held an end of rope ready, a skill he had perfected in his youth, when they had still ridden together.

And there it was – an opportunity. Hunter stepped forward to help Orton, and Shawn threw the rope over the both of them, and pulled tight. On the other side of the wagon, an unconscious Ted was dragged out by Adam.

"Nice work," smirked Mark, dusting himself off. John was shaking madly,

"I don't know how that even happened..."

They dumped the three of them onto the dusty track, surrounding them. Mark looked the closest to happy he had been in many years. Well, not happy _exactly_, but certainly satisfied. But there was one more thing Shawn needed to know.

"Hunner?"

The injured man sneered up at him.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Shawn, you're the best friend a man could ask for, but Randy – he pays better."

There was an awkward silence among the rest of his friends as they waited to see what he would do next. But Shawn just smiled, then spat in his face.

***

Evan set down the now-empty bowl of soup – Phil had been ravenous, but still too weak to chew.

"Anything else you want?"

Phil mumbled and gestured wearily at Evan. God, that kid could talk. He was worn out just listening to him.

"Okay, well, call me if you need anything."

Evan bounded out the door; somehow he managed to keep the dishes perfectly balanced on the tray. As soon as the door was kicked shut behind him, Phil heard the shuffle of someone climbing in through the window.

"Evan-" he called softly, but a finger was brought to his lips.

"Guess who?" The voice held far too much malice to belong to the innocent, youthful face which stared down at him. But there it was.

"Cody-"

"Did I say you could talk?" his voice sharpened abruptly.

Phil's eyes widened, and he shook his head, then dropped his gaze obediently.


	11. Chapter 11

**So so so sorry for not updating in AGES XD!**

**It seems to be a common plague among the writers at the moment, although I think it's near the end of the school year in the northern hemisphere, am I right? This means exams and other boring things I don't need to do 'cos I'm a film student and I'm AAAAAWESOMMEEEEE**

**Anyway. Sorry.**

**X**

"Please," panted Ted

"Shut your whore mouth," snarled Randy, giving a defiant tug at the ropes which bound him. They were attached to the horses; Mark had seen fit to give them the same treatment they had given Phil – they were walking back to town. Hunter had collapsed within the first ten minutes from his injuries and was riding in the wagon with the rest of them, albeit tied up. Shawn was far too merciful for his own good.

"How're you enjoyin' the ride, boys?" Called Adam from the wagon as he took a loud gulp of water.

"Fuck you. You think you're so smart? Wait 'til Cody gets what he wants from your little bitch like he's probably doing right now." Said Ted with a slight grin.

_Shit. Oh shit. Shit shit shit._

Mark hadn't given much thought to Orton's men, he had kept his eye so firmly on the man himself he had forgotten to head count. Had to think fast.

"I'm going to ride on ahead. It'll be faster." He pulled the horses back to a halt and began to unhitch Taker from the wagon. He wasn't built for the job anyway, and snorted gratefully when the heavy harness was lifted from his back.

"Mark, it's gonna be slow going with just one wagon horse. And I'm fairly sure you ain't wantin' to kill off these sonuvabitches just yet."

"Make sure they don't die, then."

Mark kicked Taker into a full gallop, praying that Phil still had the strength to stick out whatever Cody was doing to him.

X

Cody was currently straddling Phil's hips and had pinned his arms above his head, enjoying the way the stablehand struggled beneath his strong grip.

"You know, we missed having you. You so much prettier than the Hardy whore."

"Just wait til Mark gets back," breathed Phil – his throat still felt like sandpaper. "He's going to put a bullet through that grin of yours."

Cody look about in mock-fear.

"Oh, he's not back yet. We'll just have to do something to pass the time until he gets here."

This only made Phil struggle harder, but he was weak and running on pure adrenaline. He could feel the strength draining from him even as he spat in the face of his attacker. Then Cody slapped him in the face, much like one would do with a hysterical woman. The movement frightened Phil enough that he completely froze. It brought back memories of being on the road, lost and confused and completely at the mercy of the three strange men, in particular the viper-like man they called Randy. It reminded him of nights where he had been beaten senseless into the dust, and then ravished brutally by Orton, who took his own pleasure when and where he pleased. They would slap his exhausted body awake, call him their bitch and then they would take it in turns...

Phil felt something being drawn across his back, like a fingernail scraping across the flesh. He realised suddenly that he was now lying on his belly, Cody still on top of him. Then the scratching turned into a biting pain which sent stabbing sensations all through his core, and he realised that Cody was slowly caring a line into his back with a knife. He began to hyperventilate with hair, his hands balled into fists and twisted the sheets in a white-knuckled grip of torture.

"Scream and I'll put this through your ribs into your heart. And it'll be easy as hell, too – i can count them from where I'm sitting."

Another line was scratched with an agonising slowness across his back.

"Randy did always say a little roughhousing beforehand made the game that much sweeter."

Suddenly, there was a deafening bang, and Phil felt a warm, wet liquid spray all over his back, then the dead weight of Cody fall onto him, crushing him. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter.

"I say if you want to do something, get to the point and stop talking about it." Mark lifted the corpse off Phil and dumped it on the floor – the bullet had gone right between his eyes.

"A better death than that bastard deserved," smirked Mark, but all humour dissappated quickly when he began to ease Phil off the bed.

"Shit, that blood ain't all his, is it?" He lightly traced the skin near the two gashes.

Phil was crying again, hugging his arms around his thin frame and shaking madly. Mark scooped him up as gently as he could manage, and looked around to see if anyone was watching. He then planted a kiss softly on Phil's forehead, then daringly on his lips. Phil gasped and blushed a little, a welcome change from his too-pale features.

"Let's go get you cleaned up. Then you can help me decide what to do with the others when they get here."

Phil's expression hardened momentarily at the mention of revenge, and the slightest hint of a smile pulled at his lips. Today was going to be a good day.


	12. Chapter 12

**Warning: if you don't like blood, don't read. Just sayin'.**

**Theres maybe one more chapter of this to go. ^_^ many many thankees to people who reviewed; I kinda struggled with this chapter more than I usually do XD**

**X**

Mark sat out the front of Shawn's, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from the setting sun. Phil was curled snugly into his side, and his arm was draped protectively around the bandaged shoulders of the smaller man. A few minutes back, an evening out of the man's breathing told him that he had fallen into a well-deserved sleep.

A speck of dust in the distance caught his eye, and he tensed, wondering if it was the speck he had been looking for. A whinny from Undertaker confirmed his suspicions, and he reached for his gun with his free hand. He tried to be careful, but the click of the barrel as he reloaded caused Phil to stir, those lovely black eyelashes fluttering slowly awake.

"Mark?" he mumbled softly. He lifted his tired gaze to the horizon, noticed the dust cloud too, and his eyes narrowed.

"Is that them?"

Mark said nothing, simply squeezed the smaller man's shoulders. The speck was now a discernible object – an old wagon being pulled by one old carthorse. Phil shivered beneath Mark's touch, more from anticipation than from fear. He trusted the older man with his life, knew there was nothing to be scared of any more. That didn't stop him from shifting about restlessly though – he wanted to get up to meet the wagon halfway; it would be faster.

"Calm." Said Mark softly, "Just enjoy the moment."

Phil nodded silently and just concentrated on remembering everything about the evening. The was the golden light filtered through the porch and highlighted Mark's face. The fact that for the first time he was safe and warm, nestled snugly into Mark's side. The distinct freshness in the air that told him Summer was soon to become Autumn. And always, that goddamn wagon which seemed to be moving so... fucking... slowly...

Large hands covered his own; he hadn't realised they were trembling.

"They'll be here in a sec, dont'cha worry."

And indeed they were, when Phil looked up the wagon was close enough that he could make out Adam with the reins, seated beside John. Phil had to admit to himself that John did make a pretty wife, clad in what looked like a dress from the Hardy residence. Then he saw the two men attached to the sides of the wagon, and every nerve in his body was suddenly shocked into alertness. Sweat trickled down his back despite the cold evening air and he shifted again. Adam pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the saloon and dismounted, walking quickly over to Mark.

"Hunter..." he muttered, "His injury was a bit worse than what we thought."

"Dead?" smirked Mark.

Adam nodded.

"Thank god I can get outta here," came a strangled voice from the back. Shawn scrambled off the wagon, his features pale but composed.

"Hunner died a couple of minutes back. And for some reason I don't really care anymore."

"He fuckin' deserved it." Mark raised his voice, "You hear that, Orton? You fuckin' _deserve_ everything we're about to do to you."

"Making us walk back wasn't enough for you?" spat Orton. He was bent double, leaning on the side of the wagon for support.

"That meetin' point was barely _halfway_ to your goddamn hideout, so no, it isn't. If I were bein' totally fair I'd make you both walk back."

Orton just snarled at him and pushed himself back upright, grunting with the effort. Mark came and untied him from the wagon, and dragged him over to an empty patch of ground. He kicked him in the back of the knees, sending the man kneeling. Adam and John did the same with Ted.

Mark grabbed a handful of Orton's hair, and pulled his head close so that their noses were almost touching.

"You killed my brother. And John's father. And Shawn's wife."

The rest of the men formed a semi-circle around the two fallen villains.

"I don't know what it's like to be absolutely, positively certain that you are going to die in the next few minutes," said Shawn softly, "But I bet it's horrible."

"All yours, Phil. Do what you have to." Mark stood back, leaving Phil to face his tormentors alone.

What could he say to them? He wanted to scream at them, tell them how badly they'd hurt him. He hadn't been able to trust anyone for years, hadn't thought enough of himself to even _speak_. Did they realise what that was like? Having to live your life in terror? They had nearly _killed_ him more than once.

His fists clenched.

"Got somethin' you're wanting to say to me, bitch?" sneered Orton.

Phil's nose twitched into a half-snarl. He'd spent so long without words he knew he'd stumble over whatever he had to say. Although, he had become a master at communicating without words...

"Well? What're you gonna say?"

Phil took a deep breath, let it out softly and then spat in Orton's face, returning to Mark's side.

"That all you wanted to say?" Asked Mark.

Phil nodded silently.

"Well I couldn't have put it better myself."

Mark reached for Phil's old Colt, and pressed the cold steel into his hand.

"Oh, lookin' very brave there-"

Ted's sneering voice was cut off by the loud crack of a gunshot. A gush of crimson blood spurted from a hole between his eyes. His head slumped forward, and then his dead weight fell to the ground, sending up small puffs of dust.

"You fuck-"

The gunshot pierced him through the mouth and came out the back of his neck. Orton's mouth fell open and a couple of mangled teeth toppled out, accompanied by another gush of thick, frothing blood. He was still alive, jaw working to try and articulate the horrendous amount of pain he was in. Odd gurgling noises came from deep within his throat as his lungs began to fill, choking him. His eyes grew wide with terror as he sensed death clawing at his consciousness.

Another shot through the middle of his forehead ended it.

"I'm better than him." Said Phil softly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys I noticed that I had previously typed 'Randy' instead of 'Ted' in the last chapter, which makes it appear as though Phil shot Randy twice. Which doesn't make sense. They're both dead... (sorry!)**

**X**

The gun seemed to have been welded to Phil's hand; he was frozen staring down at his fallen tormenters, arm still outstretched. Mark edged over to him and took him by the arm, easing the cool metal from his hand and sticking it into his belt. Phil pulled away from him angrily and turned away.

"Phil?" asked Mark hoarsely.

The man's hands had balled into white-knuckled fists, every muscle in his thin frame was tense and from the scarlet flecks across the back of his shirt Mark could tell his wounds had started bleeding again.

"It's over," said Phil, still not turning to face the rest of them. His voice was soft and low, almost a growl. It didn't sound like him at all.

He straightened up, and walked towards the two corpses in front of them.

"We're going to have to dispose of the bodies," he said.

"Phil, what's wrong?" Mark didn't like the strange edge that had crept into the smaller man's voice.

"Nothing," he snapped.

"Phil-" Mark reached out again, but Phil drew away sharply.

"Don't. I can take care of this." He began to drag Ted's limp form towards the wagon on his own, ignoring the four men who stood awkwardly nearby. God, he was twenty. Twenty something... twenty what he had long ago lost count of but nonetheless, he was a man, not a crying fucking woman. And Mark had already done so much...

Come to think of it, he had been here for a week. Already more than the usual wanderers stayed – how long was it going to be until the road called his name again?

Fuck.

"What're you looking at?" snapped Phil. The stony mask which had settled across his features disturbed Mark somewhat. He was hurting, he could tell that much, but hell it was creepy. He grabbed the young man's wrists firmly, forcing him to let go of the bloodied corpse. There were smears of the red liquid across his shirt front, it drenched his hands and he stared at them numbly, as if it wasn't his own hands he was looking at.

"Let me go," Phil tried to keep control of his voice but it cracked.

"Hush, you're going to aggravate that wound of yours."

"You're not my m-m-mother," a slight sob shook the conviction of his words, but he tried nonetheless to twist out of Mark's grip.

"You'll wear yourself out," said Mark wearily

Phil shook his head and tugged again, to no avail. His life had been wasted on abuse, and fear, and loneliness, and now that had all gone. He'd just killed off his own past, and it frightened him.

"Don't leave me," he pleaded softly.

Mark blinked in surprise as Phil stopped struggling and fell to his knees in the dust. He swiftly scooped the boy up into his arms, holding him carefully.

"D'you mind?" He asked Shawn quietly, nodding towards the bodies.

"We'll take care of it."

Mark nodded again and took Phil inside to put him to bed. Luckily for him Phil was exhausted and fell asleep on the way up to the room, but he had flung his arms around Mark's neck rather insistently and he found that he could not detach him. He stood next to the bed for a while, thinking, before he simply climbed into bed with a sigh. Phil nestled comfortably into his side, using his broad chest for a pillow. Mark was pretty worn out too, and so the two of them fell asleep together.

Later on, Shawn found them in that exact position, and made sure the door was locked.

X

"The hell are you doing here, Calaway?"

A week had passed. Mark was itching to leave again; his shoulder was back to normal, Phil's back was healing up nicely and all the shit Orton and his men had stole had been more or less returned. There was just one thing they needed to tie up.

"You still open today?"

Vicky sniffed airily.

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because if you don't I'm going to slap you so hard-"

"Excuse me? Slap a woman?"

"Come on Mark," Phil tugged at his sleeve and simply led him past Vickie into the house.

"You oughta get yourself a wife like that one," she called, "She'd knock some manners into you."

Mark just smiled and ruffled Phil's hair.

Jeff greeted them once they were inside.

"I heard what happened," He said, hugging Phil, "You were pretty brave."

Phil shook his head, "Having someone like Mark to hide with'd make anyone brave,"

Jeff looked at Phil curiously, then at Mark's hand, which rested protectively on his shoulder. His expression suddenly grew into a huge grin.

"Matty!" He shouted, "Matty!"

Matt raced down the stairs in alarm, a rifle in his hands.

"What's wrong, Jeffy?"

"Put that down you silly man," laughed Jeff, pointing to Mark and Phil.

"Look!"

Matt's face fell.

"So you two did end up getting together?"

"Is that... a bad thing?" said Phil timidly.

"Yes. Fuck!"

Mark drew Phil closer into his side, eyes narrowing.

"You wanna say that again?" He growled.

"You just cost me five bucks!" Matt dug the paper out of his wallet and handed it to Jeff.

"I told you they would" Giggled Jeff, pocketing the money.

Phil just stared in shock, then they all burst out into laughter.

"Congrats, man." Matt extended his hand to Mark, "You've joined the ranks of homo cowboys."

Mark took the hand and shook it warmly.

"You're welcome back here any time you're passin' through. You leavin' soon?"

"Once we get our things in order."

"He goin' with you?"

Phil nodded silently.

"Hey," Jeff tapped him lightly on the nose, "It's not so scary. Plus now you've got big ol' Mark to look after you."

Mark squeezed his shoulder, and chuckled.

"Well, we've got other people to say our goodbyes to, plus I think you've got enough on your hand now that business is pickin' up again."

"You got that right," said Matt. He shook Mark's hand again, then Phil's.

"Best of luck to you."

Jeff kissed Phil lightly on the cheek, and gave Mark a hug.

"Don't get too rowdy in the desert moonlight. That sand gets everywhere."

Phil and Mark blushed simultaneously while Matt slapped his brother.

"And tell John not to get too comfortable in that dress," called Jeff, "It was one of my favourites!"

X

Adam adjusted the last of Phil's saddlebags and nodded up at him.

"She all good?"

Phil wriggled slightly in the saddle, and nudged his new horse's flanks slightly with his heels. She was a gentle gray mare named Michelle, and she eased forward placidly.

"All good. She's lovely." Phil reached forward and patted her neck.

"Saddle good?" John set about adjusting the harness to a comfortable length for Phil.

"Much better," he said honestly. Mark trotted by just outside the shop on Undertaker, testing out his horse's gait.

"Good to go?" he called.

Phil nodded and opened his mouth to say something, when they were interrupted by a flurry of hoof-falls.

"Not going to leave without sayin' bye to your old friend were you Mark you old bastard?" Called Shawn.

"For gods sake man, stop ridin' them damn horses!" Mark chuckled and shook his head. They were all of them rather too set in their ways. A part of him felt bad for forcing this life on Phil, but then again, the man would not hear otherwise.

"Well then, call back in when you've finished ridin' yourself around the world."

Mark nodded, then took his hat off. Shawn did the same with his own, and they swapped.

"I sometimes forget who started off with which" mumbled Mark.

"Now piss off."

John plucked tentatively at Phil's sleeve.

"Good luck, partner." He whispered. He reached up to shake the ravenette's hand, and Phil accepted warmly. A piece of cool metal passed between them, and Phil was left holding a tiny iron horseshoe.

"And the same to all of you!" Called Mark. Undertaker reared theatrically, and rode off. Michelle followed hot on his heels, jerking Phil backwards as he struggled to keep a hold of her reins.

"Keep control of your damn horse!" Shouted Mark.

"I can't help it, I think she's got a thing for Undertaker!" replied Phil, finally getting a good grip and reining in his infatuated mare.

Mark shook his head as they fell into an easy canter.

"This is going to be one long ride."

X

**Thanks for reading, pardners!**


End file.
